


Impulse House

by ImmortalVal



Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mental Institution, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Angst, Asshole parents, BAMF!Lester, Hella., Im bad at tags so, It starts out with Lornester being onesided and Lorne being a creep, Lester is adorably awkward but also a badass, Lester is almost Crazy, Lorne is Crazy, Lorne is a creep in canon but still, Lornester, M/M, Mental Instability, Multi, Oblivious Lester, Onesided Relationships - Freeform, Some characters are going to be teachers/doctors, Stalker/Creeper Lorne, Teenagers, others are just students/patients ok
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-02
Packaged: 2018-01-21 17:06:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1557782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImmortalVal/pseuds/ImmortalVal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lester Nygaard is an ordinary guy. He's a bit different, but everyone is, right? He has his own quirks and ticks - and everyone seems to know how to trigger them. Lester's just a guy who's on the edge of snapping. He's a teen who's been bullied to the verge of breaking. These are his teen years.</p><p>Lorne Malvo is not that ordinary. He may look ordinary, act ordinary, but some people make great actors, right? He has his own quirks and ticks - and he'll make sure no one knows what they are. Lorne is just a guy who's already snapped. He's just a teen who grew up too early to a point where he broke. These are his teen years. </p><p>Well, those <em>were</em> their teen years. Now it all revolves around the -<strong>Impulse House</strong>-.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impulse House

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write something for Lornester. So this was born. Oh so beautiful. I'm so sorry. 
> 
> It's a Mental Institute AU sort of thing. Sorry again. No selfharm, suicide, or anything hinting to those kind of things, so it's okay. It's more of a... People are just murder-crazy. Or something. This is very loosely based on the book Impulse by Ellen Hopkins.
> 
> I should let you all read now. Oh hey here's the song for this chapter: 
> 
> Florence + The Machine - [ [Dog Days are Over](http://youtu.be/sszAVSx4Wwo) ]

**Chapter One:**

**_School? Hospital? Hell?_ **

* * *

 

 

 _Oh jeeze_. Were his first thoughts. Great first thoughts too. Though, what were you suppose to think as you stepped into here?

'Woe is me, my life is over', how about 'My freedom is now gone what shall I do?!', or maybe even 'This is the end of the nearer for all'?

That seemed too... Weird. Honestly. Don't think he'd ever think or say those things. Maybe because, well- Well because he was him. Lester Nygaard. The pencil-dicked loser who was too  _stupid_ to think a single thought. Apparently that was him. Maybe that's why he was here, not because he almost beat Sam to his death bed, or because his journal of  _dark, very dark_ thoughts were found. No, he was sent here because of the labels he had been assigned through his life. Well heck every one of those bas-

Vibrations. Where? It was against his leg, so probably his pocket. Which meant he got a text. He never got texts. 

 

 

> **1:28pm - Dont fuck it up there it costs more thn u cud ever fucking make in ur lifetime i dont wan 2 waste money on somthin tht wont evn help fix u  
> **
> 
>  
> 
>  

Good old dad. Always the best, always so caring, nice, and supportive of his sons. Well, no, just his son.  _One_ son, who wasn't Lester. No one was ever nice or supportive of Lester, so was it really a surprise to get that message from his own father? Not really. Which is sad when you think about it. But Lester doesn't like to think about it. So he stops thinking about it, because that's what you do, right? Stop thinking to forget all of your problems? Sounds right. 

 _Smells like death._ It finally process, where he is, that where he stood was his home for the next few years. He glances around at his surroundings. Looks like a hospital, _feels_ like one. That looming presence of death is present, it didn't much look like an actual hospital when you thought about it. Smelt like a hospital, looked like a school. A school? Maybe an office building, without all of those cramped and uncomfortable cubicles. He starts drumming his fingers against his leg, his other hand tugging on the bottom of the sleeve of his big, orange, fluffy jacket. His bags rested on each side of him, only bringing about four packs with him. He didn't own much, so there wasn't much to bring anyways. Which was good. Easier to pack out and move. 

Now. _Heck_. What was he suppose to do now? Go to class? Wait, he didn't even know his classes yet. Go to his room? Maybe. Yes, that's probably it. 

He lifts a leg. Then stomps forward. Stops. Where were the living quarters?  _Darn it_. He fumbles with the map in his pocket, unfolding it to examine and study the layout of the building. Living quarters were to the... Left. Lifts the other leg, takes a step forward. Does the action again until he reaches the stairs to the second floor. His room was on the 3rd floor, 5th door in. Trudging his way up the stairs, Lester drags his bags with him. Two bags dragged behind him, the other two tucked under his arm. 32 steps later and he found himself on the 3rd floor already. 

The teen carries himself and his bags to the 5th door down, dropping everything to the floor once he was standing outside the door. With a quiet groan of pain, he leans his body against the door, letting his muscles relax before he went in and got everything unpacked. He blinks - and then finds himself falling to the ground, he pushes his arms out, flailing to land on his hands and  _not_ his face. His efforts end in vain as his nose smashes against the polished wood, a loud ' _crunch_ ' is heard. Oh _jeeze, heck, darn-_ " _Why_?!" He hears himself shout.

Hands grip his jacket, pulling him off of the floor, dragging him into the room. Oh. Was this his room mate? He looks up, ignoring the blood that trickled down his face, and the blood that landed on his lips and in his mouth. Another teen was indeed dragging him to one of the beds. It was dark in the room, his vision was fuzzy, and  _oh I think I'm going to vomit_. He bites his tongue, screws his eyes shut, lets out a small whimper of agony, but doesn't let the puke or blood fall out of his mouth. Because that would be a very bad first impression. 

"What made you think that leaning against the  _door_ was a good idea?" A voice, muffled ( it was probably just Lester, voices can't really be muffled like that ) and friendly sounding, questioned him. 

"I didn't much think that someone was going to open it on me." He answers, noticing ( just a bit late ) that they had stopped moving, and that he was not in the bed, but on the floor right next to it. 

"Well you should have thought this more through, huh?" Was the only reply as footsteps led off to some other direction.

Lester was really hoping it was the bathroom to get a towel, or to the door for his bags. Either way, even if the stranger didn't do any of those, he was grateful for them at least bringing him into the room. Sort of. Now he just lay in a tiny puddle of blood, his head hurting, with his arms and legs sore.  _Stupid_. This was all stupid. He was stupid, the stranger was stupid, this place was stupid, his bags were stupid, and his father was the stupidest of everything.  _HATE._ Hate and rage were swelling and whirling around in the tiny teen, his teeth clenched in anger ( and pain), his hands scrunched in a fist unconsciously. Everything was so  _stupid_ and he  _hated_ it all. 

Then a warm and wet towel was pressing against his nose and he felt better. Because the stranger had indeed gone to the bathroom to help him. It was a nice though, and suddenly all the hate and anger started to pass over, because  _wow_ just thinking about someone caring for him was a nice thought.  He peeks an eye open and catches the image of the other male. Short, brown hair, a sort of long face, brown eyes, and wow he looked stressed. Though, it seemed like he was always stressed or worried over something. 

So, Lester just let the stranger pat away the blood as he relaxed. "I'm, uh, Lester Nygaard, by the way..." He whispers to his room mate(?), waiting for a name in response. 

"Nice to meet you Lester, I'm Gus Grimly, but people just call me 'Grim' if you want nicknames." 

It sounded like a bad nickname, but Gus made it sound alright. He liked that. Maybe they'll be friends. "Ah- okay, Grim. I don't... Have any  ~~nice~~ nicknames, so Lester will have to do if you don't mind it." ~~  
~~

"I don't mind it." Grim responded in a quiet manner, almost close to the quietest whisper.

Lester takes a hold of Gus' wrist making him stop his wiping. "I can take care of myself, Grim... Th-Thanks." He sputters out, accepting the towel from his friend(?).

"If you're sure..." Grim ( Lester rather liked that nickname, maybe he'll use it more than Gus) paused, then Lester paused, because why did Grim pause? Did something bad happen. Then he caught it. Foot steps. Foot steps coming this way. Then- 

"Well, well, what do we have here?" A new person. Was he nice? Didn't sound very nice.

Grim didn't reply for a while, until finally: "Hello Lorne." 

Well. Who the  _heck_ was Lorne? _  
_

**Author's Note:**

> This feels so badly written, oh god I'm so sorry. It's also short.  
> It's just to first chapter so shh.  
> Okay bye.


End file.
